


I Name You Matchbox

by voleuse



Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5477066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>It's difficult these days to say anything new. All the more reason to love you</em>.<br/>The magic is in the everyday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Name You Matchbox

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jassanja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jassanja/gifts).



> Spoilers for _Ink and Bone_ , though set prior to the events of the novel.

Christopher doesn't remember much of the Iron Tower, despite being there for the first ten years of his life. He remembers the cold that radiated from the walls. He remembers the silence. He remembers how the piled rugs felt under his feet, nubbly and uneven, with occasionally scratchy embroidery. He remembers his mother's voice, how she hummed a tuneless lullaby as he fell asleep.

He doesn't remember his father's face. Upon reflection, he concedes he might not remember his mother's face, either--those memories sometimes overlay Keria as he knows her now. The sharp, dark disappointment in her eyes brings dissonance into those earlier memories of warmth, of security.

He remembers the door closing behind him as the High Garda assigned to bring him to the orphanage patted his shoulder and told him not to cry.

*

Of the next eight years, Christopher chooses to remember little but his studies. He made few friends at the orphanage, though he was treated well. His tutors he remembers well, his caretakers less so. They were, the lot of them, unsurprised by his narrowed focus on the Library, and whatever knowledge he could gather of them.

When he would pass the grounds of the Library, on occasion, the automata watched him. He believed them to be waiting.

When the time came to apply for the exam, he received a message. _Your fee is paid_ , the message had said. It was signed _Keria, Obscurist Magnus_.

He remembers calling her mother, once upon a time.

*

Unlike the other would-be postulants, Christopher does not need to take the train. When the group--all well-heeled, most polished far beyond him--arrives, he is already waiting on the station platform. Their assigned instructor, Scholar Lajani, stands a few feet away from him, politely refraining from staring at the Obscurist Magnus's son.

The other postulants, Christopher observes, have already started forming their affinities and alliances. One postulant, the embroidery on his coat too brightly glinting to be anything but vulgar, wrinkles his nose when he looks at Christopher's own plain clothing, down to his well-made but well-worn shoes. A young woman, her hair pulled back into three long braids, smiles at him, and at everybody. The others look scared or anxious, except for one. He, Christopher notes, is scanning the station, peering down the street, taking the measure of not just the postulants, but the passers-by.

His gaze, finally, meets Christopher's own. 

He winks and, for reasons he doesn't examine in that moment, Christopher flushes.

*

Lajani's mien grows cheerier the farther they trudge into the dark. "The roots of your training begin in the deep darkness," she remarks, ably speaking over the nervous mutter from some of the postulants. They halt in a chamber only a few blinks brighter than the tunnel they'd just exited. Christopher pauses at the edge of the group and surveys the room. The walls are rough but not jagged. He tips his head back to consider the ceiling, and so is unprepared for the light tap on his elbow.

He mostly contains his flinch, but doesn't leash his glare at Santi, who seems unapologetic, even as he apologizes. "Sorry." Santi raises his hands, palms facing up. "Christopher, right?"

"Wolfe," Christopher replies.

"Call me Nic," Santi responds. He leans closer, and Christopher breathes quick, breathes in the hints of sandalwood and citrus. Christopher registers the warmth of Nic's skin before he realizes Nic is waiting for a response.

"Well." He darts a glance about the room, where their fellow postulants are also whispering while Lajani talks to the High Garda who just entered. "Christopher, I suppose."

"Christopher." Nic's smile is bright and fleeting. He trains his gaze at the High Garda, then back at Christopher. "You're from here, yes? From Alexandria?"

Christopher considers how to respond, but settles for a quick nod.

"So then," Nic asks, "do you know why there's a hole in the ceiling?"

*

It doesn't take long for the others to piece together there's something different about Christopher. Perhaps it's the quick second glances he merits when new scholars or High Garda join their lessons. Or perhaps it's the way Lajani engages with him in the classroom--it's not favoritism, and not any sort of singling out. She just seems, whenever he answers a question, at length and in detail, like she already knows what he would say. As if his very responses are integrated into her plans for the day's work.

But Lajani says nothing of his history, and so Christopher remains silent in that regard.

Some of the postulants take to studying with him, when they're all in the common areas. A few, the ostentatious embroidery-wearer Merton especially, bristle with resentment. Christopher remains ill at ease with most of them, outside of academic discussions.

With Nic, though, Christopher alternates between prickly awareness and, honestly, a bit of confusion. He's always around--though they don't share a room--and helpful. Unlike some of the others, Nic seems genuinely curious about Christopher's mentions of Alexandria, and of his descriptions of the Library's actions amongst its citizens. When evening studying runs late, and the dedicated begin to doze, what started as quizzing and counterpoints become conversation. 

Their weeks fall into an easy, if sometimes hectic, rhythm. Lessons. Excursions to different parts of the Library. Physical training. Postulant after postulant, failing, packing for the train station.

And then one afternoon, unexpectedly, the Obscurist Magnus joins their class for a lesson. For much of her talk, Christopher hears only the buzzing thump of his heartbeat. 

As she leaves, Keria pauses in front of his desk, as if to say something. He stares down at the wood, and then she's gone.

Later that night, after most everyone is already abed, Christopher remains in the common area, staring into the fire.

A wine bottle enters his field of vision, and he looks up. Nic offers Christopher one of the glasses he holds. "Seems like you could use this," Nic says. 

Christopher nods and takes the glass. Their hands brush and he leans forward, close. Then closer, as Nic dips his head.

When their lips part, Christopher isn't sure whether to smile or not. Nic hooks his foot around a nearby chair and drags it closer. He uncorks the bottle and fills both their glasses.

"Tell me about her," Nic says, and Christopher doesn't even bother to dissemble.

*

When morning comes, the bottle sits empty by the fireplace.

The next night, they don't need to bother with the wine.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary adapted from [**Catherine Pierce**](https://catherinepierce.wordpress.com/)'s "Endearments."


End file.
